Espana Express
Wednesday, December 30th, 2009
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 09:24:22 AM
We caught the ferry to Algeciras in the afternoon, hooked into Spain on a mission. The ferry from Bilbao to Portsmouth that uncle Tony was paying for left the next day. Another mission of a ride with a stop to snooze on the roadside and we were finally in Bilbao. Finding somewhere to sleep was easy, but somewhere for the bikes to sleep was a little more difficult. We were doing blockies around Bilbao, asking people for directions to cheap hotels and not getting close when a guy called out from across the street.
Jon, a basque guy who had been watching us ride around his street came over for a chat. His sister was married to an Aussie guy so there was an instant connection. After trying to give us directions to a nearby hotel he decided that it would be easier to just stay at his place. We headed over and Jon tried to find space around the car park in the apartment building car park that wouldn’t get into any ones way, but after some shuffling decided that it would be better to just move his car into the street and put the bikes into his spot.
The only issue with that was he couldn’t drive, so i had to do it for him. So, not only did he invite us into his home, he also moved his own car onto the street so we could garage the bikes – what a legend!
The evening that ensued was a real cultural experience, as Jon and Arantzazu walked us through the basque country and history, fed us and were generally pretty awesome. I spent the night on the dog’s couch which wasn’t great for my fluffy eyes. The next morning Jon and Arantzazu gave us an escort to the ferry terminal. Great people and a perfect example of the type of people that help you out when you are travelling, a learning experience for all!
Arriving at the P&O port, we headed to the office to check in. It was at that stage that Todd let me know that he hadn’t actually heard anything from Tony in regards the booking. Although i was disappointed on the follow through, i was hopeful that there wouldn’t be too much difficulty getting the bikes on the boat, but surprise surprise – the ferry was full.
Now i was thoroughly pissed off, but allayed my mood by chatting to a group of English bikers that were waiting to load onto the ferry. Todd was inside trying to get something sorted to get us onto the ferry. The next ferry was in a few days, and although I love Spain, we were expected in the UK for what i assumed would be a media frenzy organised by the prostate cancer organisations I had been in contact with there, so we had to move.
Todd came out a little while later, and after phone calls to Tony's office and heated conversations at the counter we were sorted and onto the ferry. Calais was another 20 hours ride away, and we were off the highway now. It was from my love for organisation that my frustration came, but it took me a while to calm down, but I managed to avoid any arguments with the ferry staff this time around!
The route from Bilbao to Portsmouth took a couple of days and was treated as a short cruise by a lot of English tourists, although we were at the end of the season. they would sail over for a couple of days, spend a day in Spain and then sail back! It was called a mini cruise, and it was easy to see how much fun it would be during the high season, but as per the usual, we were there out of season. We managed to hook up with a bunch of crew, had a few beers and took part in the Nintendo challenge and saw some of the onboard entertainment.
It was an interesting ride, much more than the two days from Barcelona to Morocco that’s for sure, and after blowing an hydraulic line on the gangway and being stuck on board for an extra couple of hours, we were finally in England and the UK.
Stupid Carpets
Sunday, December 27th, 2009
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 09:22:24 AM
The ferry was an Italian one, stopping in Spain before heading across to Morocco. We had a shared room, and got in after the other two guys and ended up on the top bunk. I remember that my brother and I would fight over the top bunk when we were kids. It has lost its appeal I guess, now the thought of climbing up onto a short bunk bed over a bunch of luggage in a cramped room on a ferry to spend the night in the fettle position didn’t seem like something I would argue with my brother about. It was a two day ride, and was more or less uneventful. The ferry looked like it would have been a bit of fun once upon a time, but had been relegated to the ‘Morocco run’. There was swimming pools; empty, bars; closed, and a nightclub that was used as an immigration hall.
There was a heated argument in Spanish/Italian/Arabic in the line for immigration when a woman appeared to get upset about her place in the queue, arguing with a guy closer in the queue. It went on for a few minutes until the guy sitting next to me switched places with the woman, who by this time had worked herself into a red faced crying frenzy. Awesome, but I did manage to control my longing to have a chat with her about the whole issue, choosing instead a knowing and apologetic nod to welcome her to my part of the queue.
Hitting the ground in Morocco, I was on high alert for dodgy incidents. In the ferry I had met a bunch of French guys that were having a motorbike trip in Morocco for a couple of weeks and there they were in the customs shed. These guys brought the total of motorbikes waiting for customs clearance to about 7 so it would have been harder for anyone to get on with any dodgy business, and we were on the road about 45 mins later.
Our time in Morocco was to be pretty limited, so we figured rather than just ride through a bunch of places, Fez, Casablanca, Marrakech, we headed to Fez for some real Moroccan tucker.
We arrived quite late in the evening, and hit up an internet café to find somewhere to stay. The guy that ran the café told me that the backpacker office would be closed and that he knew someone around the corner with a cheap hotel and walked me around there. They were full and he was on the phone calling friends, looking for someone to help us out, and a friend of his, Fadi, had an apartment that he rented out to students who came to study in Fez and if it was free it was a good deal – luck it was free so old mate jumped on the back of my bike to direct us there. We met Fadi, who was from Lebanon and adopted me as his brother. He then let me on his little secret – because we were brothers. Fadi bought carpets in Morocco and sold them at art auctions in the USA to finance his lavish lifestyle, flying around the world. He implored me that I could double or triple my money selling carpets at art auctions in Melbourne. where, funnily enough, his sister lived. It was getting late, and Fadi arranged to meet us in the morning and show us the coop where he bought carpets. Ok, the moroccan carpet experience.
The next day we were off, visiting the carpet coop, and what seemed too good to be true began to play itself out. They were sell sell sell, they put on every trick. You can pay half now and the rest later, we can send them to you at home, i’ll go halves with you – because you are my brother. There is money to be made. All day he took us from carpet place to tile place and carpet place. I pulled him aside at one stage “I’m not going to buy any carpets Fadi, I can’t afford it and am not interested.” Still no letting up. After a long day of trying to sell us carpets, we arranged to meet later to go for dinner and a drink. Not without another visit to a carpet place. “I’ve decided that i’m going to take a chance and invest in you, i’ll spend $5000”. “That’s fine Fadi, i’ll import some carpets for you, but I am not spending any money!” “No that’s ok brother, you sell the carpets in Melbourne and just put the money in my account.”
It was all getting too much, and after another session trying to sell bloody carpets, I reiterated that I wouldn’t be buying anything. Desponded, we headed to a shisa bar to have a drink. Funnily enough, the place we were going to have dinner and a drink was under renovation and not open. He could tell that all the effort he had put in was wasted and strangely not as interested in a night out. Our one day in Fez, spent looking at stupid carpets and I was pretty keen to get the hell out of there. The next day, carpet less and happy to see our bikes were still there, we made a b-line to Tanger to get the ferry back to Spain, with a sour taste in my mouth. Get me out of Morocco.
Morocco
What Passport?
Sunday, December 27th, 2009
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 07:45:39 AM
Finally making it out of Munich we headed south towards Lyon in France where I was going to drop in on Popo before heading to Barcelona to pick up the boat to Morocco.
Crossed into Austria, as you do, without even noticing, and it was at the border to Switzerland that I remembered that my passport was stowed away safe and sound in Munich. Luckily the swiss had recently made an agreement with the EU that allowed softer border procedures.
The plan was to head through the border, and if i got through would stop down the road to work out what to do about an absent passport. A deep breath, smile and nod to the border guard and I was through.
Luckily Mon, who worked for top deck and was based in Switzerland, was in Munich and was on her way to Lauterbrunnen that night so she was going to be able to bring the missing passport down with her. It meant missing out on seeing Popo, but also getting to spend the night in Lauterbrunnen and catching up with rivet who was based there.
Back on the road a bit late the next day, we were en route to Barcelona. Given the passport adventure we were short of time getting to Barcelona in the afternoon after setting up camp at a service stop for a sleep. Hooking around town I realised how awesome it actually was in Barcelona, shame time was short, but that is the nature of the project. We stayed out by the airport at a campsite, out of season, and were some of the only people there. The manager of the campsite was actually pretty interested in the project as he was planning to ride through towards Australia. He seemed to think a few months would be enough to get there and was a bit surprised that we had been on the over 6 months.
The Family and Beerfest
Wednesday, December 16th, 2009
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 08:09:15 AM
People often ask what my favourite place has been, or what experience has been the most interesting, and I have to say seeing my mum and dad, my brother and Karoline and of course my niece in Germany was one of the highlights of my trip.
After around a week with the family I headed south to rejoin Todd at Oktoberfest in Munich. I was really looking forward to seeing Monty, Scotty, Ange and anyone else who I knew from my top deck days that was floating around the campsite. I had never been to Oktoberfest before, and I was looking forward to the spectacle.
On my way to the beerfest grounds, the fix on my muffler the day before pretty much blew apart, and I was back to red bull cans and fencing wire.
It wasn’t a major issue because I was moving pretty quickly and couldn’t really hear it myself, but the cops that pulled me over about 400km from Munich were in the perfect spot to hear it. They actually pulled me over for a blown tail light, had a chat for a while about the trip and were off.
They mentioned that the muffler might have had a problem, and I let them know that i’ll be getting it sorted in Munich (fingers crossed).
Taking the wrong turn off onto the munich ring road, I circumnavigated the city with an extremely loud exhaust before getting to the campsite. Talk about trying to keep a low profile. No more adventures with the cops, though and it was great to see there was a lot of crew at the top deck camp.
A mission to get a replacement exhaust the next day, I was pretty keen to get it out of the way and get into the spirit of Oktoberfest.
I found a Kawasaki dealer, and they just didn’t want to think outside the box. “No, can’t help.” I threw ideas at them one after another, luckily they had a coffee machine so I settled in to get the problem sorted. They didn’t seem to understand the idea that I couldn’t actually go anywhere because the muffler for my bike, auspoof, was in pieces on their counter.
After an hour of asking them to call around and look in the parts room I was finally convinced that they were completely useless to me, and headed out on the street, but stopped to see what the shouting was coming from the shop. The manager came running out with a second hand stock muffler for a KLR. I couldn’t believe it. Four guys, a dozen catalogues, and they had exactly what I needed there the whole time.
Back to camp and Jimmy set about helping my do a few things to my bike, including fit the new muffler and I was free to get into the spirit. I got into the spirit well, losing my watch, camera and hat in what I like to describe as a ‘beer hall incident’. Went on rides, drank steins, ate pork knuckles, sang songs, caught up with dear friends, made new friends. Oktoberfest was an awesome experience, which I extended as long as I could, but the ferry from Barcelona was leaving in a few days and I had to get going. I wanted to visit Popo, an old roommate of mine in Lyon, France on the way through so had to get cracking.
Europe
